The Cross
by Ashley A
Summary: A new ally for a lonely soul. A look into BTVS season one. BA
1. The Cross

          Author's Note:  All lines from "Welcome to the Hellmouth" belong to Joss Whedon.  No copyright infringement intended.

            I have changed the timeline a bit to suit my purposes.  The action takes place close to Halloween, and I have also changed the clothing that Angel was wearing.

            Summary:  A new ally for a lonely soul.  A look into Buffy the Vampire Slayer season one.

            Rated PG

            Feedback is always appreciated.

            Enjoy!

*

One.

Cold wind whips at the man staring in the shop window, one of many decorating the main street.  Bright lights, a pretty display, and various shoppers reflect back at him.  He doesn't see himself in the glass.

            He doesn't feel the wind; his leather duster moves slightly in the breeze, but he can't feel the bite of the temperature.  Southern California is not known for it's harsh winters, but this one is a tad cold, even for the residents of the weird little town known as Sunnydale.

            Earthquakes, the Santa Anas, dust storms, swarms of bugs; the town's inhabitants have experienced a lot since the beginning, back when the Spanyards called it La Boca Del Inferno.  A little chill doesn't dampen their spirits.  In fact, the cold weather has made them even more eager for shopping.

            Halloween is a week away, and the Christmas decorations are already up on Main street.

            The lone man looks upward, the blinking lights wrapped around the traffic signal pole winking at him, causing his pale skin to look blue, then green.

He shakes his head, not understanding the constant hurry up go go go of the mortals rushing around him any more.  He had been there once, and had felt it too, then.  Go rush rush grow up work family life get there do this now.

            His life has slowed down a lot since one night in his hometown, a night when a pretty vision had tempted him to abandon expectations and dream of possibility.  Oh, how he wished sometimes that he hadn't hated his responsibilities so much then, and hadn't followed the candy coated image of dreams made pink creamy flesh and blond curled hair.

            It's long past too late for regret now, and the man looks in the window of the shop again, a particular necklace snagging his eye, making him reach out his hand and touch the glass, getting as close as he can to the bauble.

            His hand feels the heat slightly through the thick material, and his skin sizzles just slightly at the nearness of it.

            He makes up his mind, and heads into the shop.

            The bell on the door tinkles merrily, and the shopkeeper looks up, a smile on her face, her attention rivited immediately on the dark, deep eyes of the man.

            "Hello, sir.  How are you this evening?"

            He nods, and approaches the till.

            "That necklace in the window- how much is it?"

            "The cross?  It's beautiful, isn't it?  Made in Mexico, they have the best sterling silver.  It's a hundred.  It comes with the chain as well- would you like to see it?"

            He bobs his head once in assent, and the clerk bustles out from behind the register, and leans over the edge of the short wall blocking customers from reaching into the display and grabbing the merchandise out of the window.

            The man's eyes follow the line of the woman's leg, the curve of her hips, and the place where her shoulder meets her throat.  He narrows his gaze, and can see the slow throb of the large vein in her neck.  He watches, entranced, as she removes the necklace, and slowly walks back toward him.

            "Here it is, sir," she says, and hands him the jewelry.  He puts out his palm, his gaze still rivited on the pulse beating beneath her skin.

            "Ah!" a hiss escapes his lips, and he drops the necklace, quickly shoving his hand into his coat pocket, the small amount of smoke that drifts from his burns quickly dissapating.

            "Oh, are you alright?  Did it poke you?  I'm really sorry," the woman rattles, blushing furiously, and bends over to pick up the piece.

            "I'm sorry, something must have pinched me, I wasn't paying attention," the man says, his voice husky and rusty with disuse.  The saleswoman stands, the necklace in her hands.  She is suddenly hyperaware of her body, and nervously plays with her hair as she looks at her customer, unconciously licking her lips.

            "Did you want to purchase this, sir…" she says shakily, her eyes drawn again to his, and something inside her breaks as she drowns in the pain and regret that she can see in the brown irises.

            "Yes, please.  Could you wrap it up?"

            "O-of course," she answers, and walks on weak legs to the counter, where she hastily places the necklace in a black gift box, dropping it into a small brown paper bag.

            "Cash or charge?"

            "Cash."

            She takes his money, and hands him the bag.

            "Thank you, uh," she says, expecting him to tell her his name.  She would run across the freeway in downtown Los Angeles to hear him say his name just once.

            "Thank you," he looks at her name tag, "Lindsay."

            "Anytime," she says, toying with the nape of her neck.

            "Lindsay!" a voice snaps, and she turns her head for a moment.  "These dressing rooms won't clean themselves."

            "Alright, alright, I'll be right there," she grumps, and turns back to the man again, only to see the tail end of his coat as the door shuts behind him.

            She stares for a minute, watching as his dark head disappears around the corner.

            "Lindsay!"

            She sighs, and heads toward the dressing rooms.  A little shiver possesses her briefly, and she rubs her arms, willing the goose bumps there to go away.

            In truth, she's glad he's gone, glad she doesn't have to look at that beautiful face, that flawless, pale pale skin; and most of all, she's glad she doesn't have to look again into the perfect guilt and shame that had radiated from his intense and shadowed eyes.

*

Two.

The man in the leather coat hustles down the street, _hurry hurry it's back to that, _and turns quickly down the alley that runs parellel to the nightclub called The Bronze.  He stops near a dumpster, discarding the brown paper sack the girl had given him, and opens the top of the black gift box containing the necklace he had bought.

The shiny silver cross lays in the white cotton of the packaging, silently.  He squints at it, as if expecting it to jump up at him and yell, "vampire!"

He touches the chain, almost reverantly.  His fingers tingle the closer he gets to the main part of the jewelry.

He snaps the box shut, and raises his face, checking the stars, gauging the time.  Near enough.

She's coming- he knows that much.  And he has to be prepared.

He is now.

He hears the crunch of her footsteps, and secrets himself behind the dumpster, watching as she passes, her blond hair piled messily on the top of her head, the absurdley high boots clacking on the pavement.

He slips out of the alley, following her, preternatural stealth on his side.  He stops when she stops, however, and is taken aback that she might hear him.

He keeps following, running his speech in his head, over and over.

She speeds up, heading wisely towards The Bronze, and he continues on after her, stepping into the dark alley she had turned into, another alley, another dark street.  He's had his fill of them.

He stops again suddenly.  She's not there.  The alley is empty.

He looks around, confused.  Damn it, he has to do this now, or he's going to chicken out.

Out of nowhere a high heeled shoe rams into his back, sending him sprawling, knocking him on his ass.

She's standing over him, her foot planted firmly on his chest.

He looks up at her, and smiles, assuming the cocky persona he's decided to try.

"Ah, heh heh, is there a problem, ma'am?"

She gives him a look, rolling her eyes, her fists clenched, ready to defend herself.

"Yeah, there's a problem.  Why are you following me?"

He winces, and raises his palms.  "I know what you're thinking.  Don't worry- I don't bite."

She backs off, and lets him up.  He stands, rolling his shoulders.

"Truth is, I thought you'd be taller, or bigger muscles and all that.  You're pretty spry, though."

He rubs his neck, making a show of it.

In truth, he should be rubbing his heart.  

This tiny thing is the Slayer?  She's much, much different than she had been the first time he had set his eyes on her, outside of her school in LA, long hair, miniskirt, attitude.

He can see her spirit now, easier than the first time.  And he's dismayed to discover it's shadowed. 

A bit like his own.

"What do you want?" she asks, her hands still held up defensively.

"The same thing you do," he answers, approaching her slowly.

"Okay.  What do I want?" she replies, her guard relaxing slightly.

He hesitates, not sure of what to tell her.  The truth is always the best.

"To kill them.  To kill them all."

She looks at him, a surprised and humorous expression crossing her features.  "Sorry, that's incorrect.  But you do get this lovely watch and a year's supply of turtle wax.  What I want is to be left alone!"

She whirls on her heel then, and he pursues her doggedly.

"Do you really think that's an option anymore?  You're standing at the mouth of Hell.  And it's about to open."

She stops, and turns to face him again, a wide eyed look on her face; this time no hint of humor accompanies it.

He reaches into his pocket, retrieving the black box he had purchased earlier in the evening.

"Don't turn your back on this," he starts, and tosses her the box.  She catches it.  "You've gotta be ready."

She cocks her head at this, the box unopened in her hands.  "For what?"

He smiles then, a nasty, flirty, promising smile.  "For the Harvest."

She puts a hand on her hip.  "Who are you?"

His voice catches in his throat, the remote possibility that she might listen to him making hope fly through his body like a small, trapped bird.

"Let's just say…I'm a friend."

He turns to go, and rejoices silently when she calls out another sentance.

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't want a friend."

He turns back then, but continues walking, taking backward steps gracefully, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Didn't say I was yours."

He melts into the darkness, leaving the new Slayer staring after him, trouble marring her young face.

*

Three.

The vampire watches the Slayer as she opens the black box, and stares at the cross, finally lifting it out of the packaging.

He trembles as she twists it, letting the light catch it.  She finally puts it away, slipping the box into her pocket, feet hurrying away from the alley, and into the light of the club.

He can hear the pounding of the bass as the door is opened, and he releases a little woosh of stress filled air as she moves quietly into the Bronze.

He lets his head fall back against the brick wall of the alley.

First contact.

Check. And Mate.

He exits the alley, his coat billowing behind him as the wind picks up, his head down and arms tucked closely to his sides, not daring to even contemplate the possibility of accidentally touching one of the rushing shoppers.

He hurries home to his apartment, clicking on the small lamp by the door as he enters, the new smell of the place hitting his sensitive nose like a two by four.  He sneezes, and drops his duster on the corner of one overstuffed chair that sits in front of the small bookshelf he's just installed.

He sinks to the bed, toeing off his boots, and lays himself out on top of the covers. He stills, no need to keep up the pretense of the constant little tics that accompany human life.

His chest stops rising and falling, and his body ceases to move.

Memories threaten to overwhelm him, and the familiar and habitual pain of guilt makes it's presence known, and he welcomes it, the momentary joy he had experienced in finally speaking to her dying as quickly as it had come.

In the last minute before he succumbs to sleep, though, his mouth twitches slightly, and a human action that he rarely practices appears briefly.  A smile.

He sleeps then.

The sleep of the just? No.

But he sleeps the same, content at least that he's helping.

He dreams of his cross resting around her neck, and in his dream he doesn't walk away.

In his dream when she asks him who he is, he tells her.

And she accepts him, with all his faults, all his remorse, all his crimes forgiven.

His full lips move in his sleep, her name sighing out quietly.

 And the vampire with a soul, the only one in the whole world, feels just a little bit less alone.

Fin.


	2. The Kiss

> Leaves crunch and crackle underneath the feet of the children running home from school, and the brisk post Thanksgiving air whistles down the main street of town.
> 
> The vampire with a soul walks slowly along, dodging out of the way of the running kids. No sun today. Storm clouds rolling in. Thus, he's safe to walk the streets a little early.
> 
> He walks past an alley, wrinkling his nose at the rotting turkey smell. His ears prick suddenly, the scratching of a rat's paws distracting him.
> 
> He is half way down the alley before he realizes that's not who he is anymore. He shakes his head, then listlesly moves back to the street.
> 
> She tried to kill him. She had aimed a crossbow bolt at his heart. But in the end, she had shot wide, on purpose.
> 
> Their connection had been instant and intense, the attraction obvious. She had been intrigued by the cocky, self sure man who appeared at the right moments, always warning her of some evil to come.
> 
> When he had helped her fight off The Three, when he had gotten stuck in her house- oh, alright, when he had conciously stayed in her house, he knew he had been lost the second she had asked him the simplest of questions.
> 
> "Do you snore?"
> 
> And he had been truly glad that he could tell her he wasn't sure. 
> 
> And she had told him that was good. It was good! Did she possibly have some kind of feelings for him?
> 
> She had brought him dinner that night, and had then gone ballistic after thinking he had read her diary. The fact that she made such a show about how the A didn't stand for Angel, that his eyes weren't penetrating, they were bulging, was enough to make him try to leave right then. Because when she had said those things, he had known, had known for sure she was feeling the same desire, the same want he was. But he couldn't leave. So he did what he had wanted to do since buying that cross necklace for her.
> 
> He had taken her in his arms and had kissed her. And by god, she had kissed him back. And then he had lost control, and the hungry, lonely demon came roaring up and had shown its face.
> 
> She had opened her succulant lips and screamed then. The noise had blasted its way down his ears, his throat, had wrapped itself around his guts, and had torn out his dead heart.
> 
> He had jumped out the window rather than explain his betrayal to her.
> 
> In the end, they had worked it out. Or so he thought.
> 
> She had approached him at The Bronze, when he had been content only to watch her with her friends. She had asked if he was okay, and then had agreed with him, in that _this can't be anything, _and had stood there, gazing at him with her huge reflective eyes, her battling feelings for him etched on her features.
> 
> She had kissed him. And he had kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her body, her hands sunk into his hair. The sizzling from the cross touching him he had ignored- the feel of her swept all that to the tiny portion of his brain where he locked all his pain away from the outside.
> 
> "See you around?" she had asked.
> 
> God, I hope so.
> 
> It's been a few days since he's seen her, and he's wondering what around actually had meant.
> 
> What little sun there had been has finally slipped below the horizon, and the last of the running kids has made it off the streets and into their homes for the night.
> 
> Angel is relieved; he can rest a little now, that the easy prey of his kind are safe behind solid wood doors.
> 
> He passes Weatherly Park, and decides on a whim to enter. He sits silently on one of the swings, rather delicately for such a large man.
> 
> He pushes himself back and forth with his feet, the little voice in his head telling him to go home, there's no vamp activity tonight- after all, there's a slayer in this town.
> 
> And yet, he doesn't budge from his spot on the swing. He tells his conscience that he's there to watch for weirdness; but in truth he's hoping she'll be by later.
> 
> So he sits, and waits, and toys with the buttons on his leather coat, the ends flapping with his motions.
> 
> He's staring at the sky when he senses something. Someone's coming. He's off the swing and on top of the roof of the gardner's shed faster than the human eye can track.
> 
> She almost strolls into the park, a little whistle on her lips, a small black backpack on her back, a cup of what smells like coffee in her hands.
> 
> Her blond hair is pulled back hastily into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. He finds his eyes are helplessly drawn to that spot, watching as she sits on the swing he's vacated, listening for the _thump thump_ of her blood pulsing through her veins.
> 
> She swings back and forth, having set her drink and her bag down on the ground. The creaminess of her skin shines next to the darkness of her clothing; predators clothing. High spiked black boots, loose fitting cotton pants,a simple dark colored tank. He's pleasantly surprised that the only jewelry she's wearing, besides some small earrings, is the necklace he had given her.
> 
> "It's the most, wonderful time of the year," she suddenly bursts forth, her off tune pronouncement forcing a barking laugh from his mouth. He slaps a hand over it, hoping she hasn't heard him. 
> 
> As luck would have it, she doesn't appear to have.
> 
> "la la la lalallalalaa, um, to be of good cheer…um, la la la la la la la, oh vampires, where are you?" she continues, a little quieter now.
> 
> "Hey there, princess," a voice issues from the darkness, and two men swagger towards Buffy, their demons in full view.
> 
> She stops swinging, her face a mask of shock and surprise. Angel tenses on the rooftop, ready to spring into action should she need him.
> 
> "Oh, my God," she says, her little girl voice quavering slightly. "What's wrong with your faces?"
> 
> They grin at one another, and walk closer to her. "Nothing, baby. Aren't we pretty?" vamp one laughs at vamp two. "But right now, our pretty teeth are a little out of practice, so step those fine legs this way, and let us have a midnight snack."
> 
> She stands, her face morphing as well. But not to the face of a demon. 
> 
> To the face of The Slayer.
> 
> Suddenly the two toughs don't look so comfortable.
> 
> "You're right- nothing's wrong with your faces- except for the fact that they need about six million years worth of exfoliation," she says, and kicks her coffee at them, forcing them to dive apart from each other, to avoid flying hot mocha burns.
> 
> She hastily unzips her bag as they try to recover, and whips a stake out of the side pocket. The two vamps meet each other's eyes, shout "Slayer!" at the top of their lungs, and run as fast as they can away from her.
> 
> "Damn it! Why do they always run?" she grouses, and begins the chase.
> 
> Luckily for her, she doesn't have to run too far, as the two demons have decided to run right towards the gardners shed, and the waiting vampire atop it.
> 
> Angel leaps to the ground just as they pass the edge of the shed, and grabs the throat of the first one, his own demon coming out to play.
> 
> A fierce growl escapes his lips, and vamp number one squeaks in fright, as the sound of Buffy tackling vamp two reaches his ears.
> 
> "Don't. mess. with. the. Slayer," Buffy grunts in between punches, then exclaims a loud "Ewwwwwww," as vamp number two dusts when she twists its head around in an arc, a la The Exorcist.
> 
> "What's your deal, man? We could have shared," vamp one whines, struggling as he's pinned against the wall of the shed with a wickedly sharp knife Angel has pulled from the inside of one of his boots.
> 
> "I don't share," Angel growls through deadly, shiny fangs, and jerks the knife out of the vamps shoulder, only to slice it cleanly through the struggling demon's neck.
> 
> Whoosh.
> 
> Two down, none to go.
> 
> He replaces the knife in his boot, turning to face Buffy.
> 
> He is shocked when she frowns at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
> 
> "I don't need help, Angel. What, were you spying on me? Following me again? Is this some kind of game you're playing? You can see me, but I can't see you?"
> 
> "No, I- of course not," he stutters. "I was just, walking home, and saw theses guys ganging up on you. Sorry if the help wasn't wanted," he mumbles, turning to go.
> 
> "No, wait," she calls out, grabbing his arm in her hand. A little thrill races up his spine at the contact.
> 
> "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to jump all over you," she sighs. "And I appreciate the assist. I just don't want you to think I can't fend for myself. I'm the chosen one, sacred duty, blah blah. It's a little weird to have helpers."
> 
> He nods. "I would never think you can't handle yourself, Buffy," he says sincerely. "I just- I don't want anyone to hurt you. It was instinct." He shrugs.
> 
> A slow blush creeps up her neck. "Well, thanks. I could use some backup sometimes. I know Giles would feel better if I had someone watching my back."
> 
> She retreats to the swings, picking up her abandoned backpack, stuffing her stake inside. "Damn. That's the third coffee this week I've had to throw in some guys face."
> 
> He smiles, and she returns it.
> 
> "You going home now?" he asks.
> 
> "Yeah, trig homework is calling my name. And it's not saying, Buffy, you'll pass the pop quiz tomorrow with flying colors. Its saying, you will flunk miserably and be grounded til the end of time," she answers, slinging her bag on her shoulder. She looks at him suddenly. "Hey, you don't know anything about math, do you?"
> 
> He laughs a little. "No, they weren't teaching trigonometry when I went to school. But ask me about history- and I can definitely help you there."
> 
> She sighs. "Well, dang it. Now I guess I have to actually try to absorb the knowledge myself. Do you think learning by osmosis actually works?"
> 
> She heads toward the street, with him following.
> 
> "Um, probably not," he says.
> 
> "Well, it was worth a shot."
> 
> They walk in companionable silence, until they reach the edge of her driveway.
> 
> "This is my stop," she says, pointing at the large oak in front of her open window. The lights in the kitchen are still on, meaning her mother is probably still awake, waiting for her baby girl to come home from a 'study session with Willow.'
> 
> "Well, goodnight," he says, hesitating. She meets his eyes, and slowly sets her backpack down on the ground.
> 
> "Thanks again, Angel. For the help tonight. Maybe I'll see you out there tomorrow?" she asks, and he readily agrees, taking any excuse to see her.
> 
> He turns to go, and she takes a step towards him, reaching out to lay a hand on his leather clad shoulder.
> 
> He turns as she's about to touch him, and he takes her hands in his, the heat of her warming the coolness of him, her spirit and buoyancy making him giddy.
> 
> "I know what you said, I know what we both said. _This can't ever be anything. _ But who says? Who says it has to be that way? Just us, right? I'm not a very reliable descision maker, and you, well, you haven't been dating for a while, right? I mean, who's to say we're the best when it comes to relationships? Maybe we can just, you know, hang out. Have coffee, go to a movie…" she trails off, her rant loosing steam. He smiles a half smile at her, and her heart flips in her chest. "Oh, who am I kidding," she mutters, her brows drawing together. "I'm the Slayer. You're a vampire. We're polar opposites. It'll never work. No matter how much we want it to…"
> 
> He can't stand her desperation and disappointment any more. He can't because he knows exactly how she feels. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her to him, their foreheads touching. She shivers lightly, and winds her arms around his neck.
> 
> She sighs against his cheek, and he frees one hand, tracing the bones of her face with a finger.
> 
> "Angel," she breathes, and the sound is more erotic and more beautiful than any word in any language he's ever heard. He touches his lips to hers, tentatively, not wanting to scare her with his desire.
> 
> She makes an unintelligible sound, kissing him back, her mouth sweet as berries against his own. He touches her lips questingly with his tongue, and she parts them for him, allowing him entrance eagerly.
> 
> He moves his head slightly, deepening their contact. She moans into his mouth, and he drags her closer, no space between their bodies.
> 
> "Buffy," he whispers, pulling away to let her breathe. He follows the line of her neck with his mouth, tasting her, her pulse pounding beneath his lips. His eyes flash golden for a moment, and he forces the demon down.
> 
> "Buffy? Is that you?" 
> 
> She unwraps herself from him, and his body mourns the loss of her touch.
> 
> "Uh, yeah, mom, be right there."
> 
> "Okay, honey. Oh, call Willow. She has another history question for you."
> 
> "Okay, be right there," she calls back, smoothing her hair back into her bun.
> 
> She turns back to him, touching her lips unconciously. They feel swollen to her fingertips, but she doesn't care.
> 
> Angel gazes at her, a small grin on his face, a glazed look in his eyes.
> 
> "You better go," he says at last, neither one of them ready to part.
> 
> "Yeah," she says reluctantly. Gathering up her things, she mounts the stairs to her front porch.
> 
> "Angel," she says shyly, tucking a strand of loose blond hair behind her ear.
> 
> "Yes?" he asks.
> 
> "I'll see you tomorrow, right?"
> 
> He nods. "Count on it."
> 
> She grins then, too, and waggles her fingers at him before disappearing into her dark home.
> 
> He walks home then, his feet barely touching the ground.
> 
> _This can't ever be anything._
> 
> Who says?


	3. The Prophecy

> Authors note: Set during and a few days after the BTVS season one ep Prophecy Girl. All lines taken from this episode are copyright Joss Whedon. No infringement is intended.
> 
> This is sort of a continuation of my series beginning with The Cross.
> 
> Rated PG13.
> 
> Feedback is welcome!
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> The Prophecy.
> 
> The dark haired vampire paces in her Watcher's office, denying his every word.
> 
> "It can't be. You've got to be wrong," he tells the human, shaking his head vehemently. The watcher continues, his glasses winking in the light from the small lamp on his desk.
> 
> "I've checked it against every volume I have. It's real."
> 
> "Well, there's got to be some way around it," the vampire says, whipping around to face the man, who takes a slight step back.
> 
> "Some prophecies are dodgey. Mutable. Buffy herself has thwarted them time and again," he answers, holding up the slim volume of text Angel had brought him a few days ago. A volume the vampire wishes he had now never seen, or even heard of.
> 
> "But this is the Pergamum Codex. There is nothing in it that does not come to pass."
> 
> "Then you're reading it wrong."
> 
> "I wish to God I were. But it's very plain. Tomorrow night, Buffy will face the Master. And she will die."
> 
> A rough laugh interrupts the two men. _Oh god, she heard us._
> 
> "So that's it, huh? My time is up. I remember the drill. 'One slayer dies, the next is called.' I wonder who the next one is."
> 
> White faced, Buffy walks into the small office, and confronts Giles, who is hemming and hawwing and looking for all the world like he'd like to sink into the floorboards at his feet. For Angel's part, he's wishing he could close his eyes and take back every thing she just heard them say.
> 
> "Are you gonna train her? Or will they send someone else?"
> 
> He fumbles with his glasses, replying, "Buffy, I…"
> 
> She continues.
> 
> "Does it say how he's gonna kill me? Do you think it'll hurt?"
> 
> His dark eyes intently on hers, Angel walks slowly to the Slayer, and gently puts a hand to her cheek. She tosses his touch away, violently.
> 
> "Don't. Touch me."
> 
> Her voice wavers, and tears tremble on the ends of her lashes. The vampire puts his offending hand to his mouth, his own eyes burning in heartbreak and sorrow.
> 
> "Were you guys even gonna tell me?" she asks, full of rage.
> 
> Giles responds, quietly, but devoid of hope.
> 
> "I was hoping I wouldn't have to. That there was some way around it."
> 
> She stands quickly, facing both of them.
> 
> "Oh, I've got a way around it. I quit."
> 
> Angel shakes his head, not quite sure he has heard her correctly. "Buffy, it's not that simple."
> 
> "I'm making it that simple! I quit! I resign! I'm fired! Someone else can stop the Master from taking over."
> 
> Giles takes a step toward her. "I don't know that anyone else can. The signs all indicate-"
> 
> "The signs?" Buffy says, her tone low and dangerous.
> 
> She picks up a book from the table, suddenly heaving it at the corner of the room, barely missing Giles. The stunned watcher ducks, as Angel just stands there, floundering in his absence of prudent action.
> 
> "Read me the signs!" she yells. "Tell me my fortune!" she launches another book into the air. "You're so useful, sitting around with your books. You're really a lot of help."
> 
> Giles sighs, defeated. "I don't suppose I am."
> 
> The dark haired demon dares to approach her again, laying his hand on her upper arm. This time she doesn't shake it off.
> 
> "I know this is hard…" he begins. She cuts him off.
> 
> "What do you know about it? You're never gonna die."
> 
> He winces as if struck, and increases his pressure on her arm.
> 
> "You think I want anything to happen to you? Do you think I could stand it? We just have to figure out a way-"
> 
> "I already have! I quit, remember? Pay attention." She shakes his hand off finally.
> 
> Ever the watcher, Giles feels he just can't let this go. "Buffy, if the Master rises…"
> 
> "I don't care!" she spouts, the unwanted tears sliding down her cheeks at last.
> 
> "I don't care. I'm sixteen years old. And I don't wanna die."
> 
> Angel's hand flutters in the air, as if he's raising it to answer a question. His soul cries out to hers; it would be the end of everything if she did d- he can't even think the word. But she doesn't feel it. She gazes at him blankly, her hand clutched around the cross necklace he had given her seemingly a lifetime ago.
> 
> She yanks on it, and the fragile chain snaps, the whole thing cascading to the floor, where it lands in a heap with a bright "ching!"
> 
> She turns on her heel, and strides purposefully out of the room, and though he wishes nothing but to run after her, Angel stays his limbs, and only watches as his destiny storms from the library. Her shoulders are painfully hunched, and though she tries to sufficate them, her sobs flow from her throat like wasted wine.
> 
> So many things have changed for the two of them in the past few months.
> 
> What's an immortality without her in it?
> 
> A few days later, the blonde Slayer, still showing fading bruises from her battle royale, approaches her home, walking slowly, deep in thought. She snaps to attention the moment she feels something, a stirring in her gut. She contemplates running, or turning around and heading to Willow's, or just walking straight to her door and going in without acknowledging him.
> 
> But she can't.
> 
> Steeling herself, she trods heavily toward the yard, the large oak in it, and the man she alternately dreads and desperately wants.
> 
> "Hey," he says, that simple word making her stomach flip flop.
> 
> "Hi," she says back, shoving her hands in her pockets. They stand awkwardly facing one another, neither one meeting the other's eyes.
> 
> "so, how are you-"
> 
> "So, what's the what-"
> 
> They laugh, and fall silent again.
> 
> She finally puts out a hand, and he gestures to her, _go ahead._
> 
> "I'm sorry- I know it's been a while since we've seen each other…" she starts hesitantly. He shrugs a _no worries_, and she sighs, frustrated.
> 
> "Angel, look. A lot has happened for me in the past few days. A lot that I don't care to think about or deal with, to be honest. My life, such as it is, sometimes leans toward sucking big rocks. And I thought that having you in it, well, that would be just a little bright spot in the universal blackness that seems to follow me around like a hungry puppy," she says, chewing on her bottom lip. He follows her with his eyes, as she paces in front of him.
> 
> Unknown to her, his hands are clenched into fists in his front pockets, fear and doubt pervading his thoughts…is she going to tell him to get lost? Is she going to push him out of her life?
> 
> "But when I heard you and Giles of all people discussing me like I was just a…a thing…an means to an end…just a prophecy…it broke me.
> 
> "Ultimately I did what I had to do. I'm the Slayer. There's no way getting around that. But to hear you talking about my death as if I wouldn't ever find out," she trails off, and the vampire's dead heart implodes in his chest, the dry husk of it melting to ash quietly.
> 
> "Buffy," he implores, regret and sorrow filling that one word. She shakes her head.
> 
> "No, lemme finish. I- I have some kind of…thing with you. I think you feel it for me too. But for me to trust you, you have to tell me the truth. You can't keep secrets from me. You can't make descisions for me. Don't worry," she adds, "I'm gonna talk to Giles, too. I just haven't gotten the right words together," she mumbles.
> 
> He stops her pacing with his cool fingers on her shoulder, and she halts, turning to him. His eyes glisten in the mutable light from the stars, the streetlamps near her home sparking iffily. The effect is one of overwhelming space, yet she feels the tiny area between their two bodies as if it were electrified.
> 
> "Giles had only just contacted me, Buffy. I swear I hadn't heard anything about it until that very moment. I would have told you. Actually, I probably would have tried to get you out of town," he says softly. "Do you think I could stand it if anything happened to you?" he asks her again, and she trembles a little at the intesity in his gaze.
> 
> "I- I don't know, Angel. What could you stand?"
> 
> He pulls her roughly to him, his coat falling around both of them, draping her in his scent, familiar and yet new, comforting and cloying at the same time.
> 
> "I could stand it if you were safe. I could stand it if you were away from here, from the Hellmouth, from me. From the craziness that's invaded your life. I could stand it if you had a normal life, just for a few seconds. But I'm really afraid that's not gonna happen. And I wanna be here to experience all the pain, all the danger, all the freakiness that you experience. Because if anything was to happen to you, I'd want to be there to have it happen to me, too."
> 
> They stare into each other, hazel eyes clashing with deep brown ones. He feels a momentary dizzyness; her touch and her presence sweeping away everything but _now._
> 
> The Slayer still feels that wrongness of him, that vampire of him. But she feels something else too, and she's pretty sure it's his true self. Not the demon, not the evil monster that all vampires seem to be.
> 
> She feels his soul, and she knows it's right, and it's hers to worship and adore as she sees fit.
> 
> "Angel," she breathes, and he closes his eyes, shuddering briefly as he wraps his arms around her, her nose settling into the crook of his neck just so.
> 
> "Buffy," he whispers to the night.
> 
> And they stay that way, until the predawn birds start their morning song, and the deathly rays of the impending sun remind them that their love isn't indestructible.
> 
> "You better go," she says softly finally, and he nods, his forehead meeting hers.
> 
> "Angel," she adds, "I meant to tell you this before…I'm, well…crap."
> 
> He laughs briefly, and touches his lips lightly to hers. "I wouldn't say that."
> 
> "No, silly," she smacks him on the arm. "ImgoingtoLAforthesummerIdidn'tknowitwasgonnabesohardtotellyou," she says all in one breath.
> 
> "You are? When? Why?" he says, his heart plunging to the pit of his stomach.
> 
> "The day after school ends…this Saturday. My dad lives there, I'm spending some time with him. Mom said it would be good to have another parental influence around me besides her," she grumps, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
> 
> "Oh," he replies, not sure what else to say, and horrified at his reaction. He feels like she's run him through with a sword, and his burgeoning romantic feelings hang on it's tip, dripping his bright red life's blood.
> 
> "Oh? That's it?"
> 
> "What do you want me to say?" he asks, a bit pissily. She crosses her arms, glowering dangerously at the man she's just spent most of the night kissing.
> 
> "Have a good time, Buffy? Bring me a present? I'll call you every few days? Maybe for a start," she answers, just as pissily.
> 
> He sighs, shaking his head, all anger gone away suddenly. He reaches out, threading his fingers in the edges of her golden hair, running them through it gently.
> 
> "I'm sorry. You just, I'm a little taken aback, that's all. I'll miss you…more than you can know."
> 
> Her face crumples from it's frown then, and she flies to him, crushing him in her embrace.
> 
> "I'm sorry, Angel, I'm sorry. I will call you, I promise. I should have told you earlier," she says, and he shushes her lightly.
> 
> "It's okay, really. We don't really know exactly where we're going with this, do we?"
> 
> She nods. "We don't."
> 
> He takes her hand in his, holds it to his full lips, and presses them to her knuckles.
> 
> "So lets see what happens. And I'll say…have a good time, Buffy. Bring me a present. And, I will call you."
> 
> She laughs slightly, wiping at the few tears that have leaked unexpectedly from her eyes.
> 
> "Okay," she says finally, and turns to climb the Oak to her room. He begins his own trip back to the street.
> 
> "Angel," she calls to him, and he makes an arc, facing her. She's in front of him, and places her hands on his shoulders.
> 
> "something to remember me by."
> 
> She tiptoes, and their lips meet, her small hands sinking into his hair. Their bodies smash together, any molecules of air between them a dim memory.
> 
> She runs her tongue lightly against his mouth, and he moans softly, opening his lips. She touches each of his teeth, sucking his tongue into her mouth finally. He gasps an unneeded breath of air, and squeezes her butt, his hands having dropped there unintentionally.
> 
> She smiles, and he feels it against his lips. As his right hand runs oh so slowly up her ribcage, she breaks away, planting one last wet kiss on his neck, right where his throat meets his shoulder.
> 
> "Guh," is what his larynx garbles out.
> 
> "Whoa," is what he meant, which surfaces a moment later.
> 
> "See you soon," she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She shimmies up her tree like a monkey, and disappears from his view.
> 
> The swooning vampire just stands there, bolting only when his skin begins to smoke a bitty bit from the emerging sun.
> 
> Summer's going to be long for him. But he can wait. He can wait for her til the sun burns down, and the world is shadows and dust.
> 
> Two months.
> 
> He can wait.
> 
> Fin.


End file.
